The Scorpion
by APennyForYourThought
Summary: I will find a way... It’s a long fall. From behind, the whispering breath asks, “Are you afraid of this face?”


**A/N: Leroux/Yeston-Kopit twisted together to form a spiral of my lunacy. A girl's gotta do something during the school holidays. Apologies for the second-rate quality... Again. -.- This is quite possibly even worse than 'The Grasshopper'. My editing senses are not tingling lately.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! But I'm filthy rich from birthday money. Muahaha. Ha.**

The Scorpion

Behind them, a comfortable expanse of roof. At their feet, a ledge two feet wide that barely accommodated them. Beneath _that _was empty space, then the dark grey cobbles of the streets. The city buildings stretched far into the distance, lit up with streetlamps and the light from apartment windows. Blurs of yellow illuminated the shopfronts, the water in the gutters, the carriages. Paris was on fire with joy, Erik surmised. Above ground the city was beautiful, and could be nothing but happy.

It is a frightful fall, and in all probability fatal. Yet they do not step back from the edge, they do not think of stepping back!

"If it were not for my face, I could be happy with you, my dove! Do you fear this face?"

"No..."

"It is a terrifying face," he conceded absently. "A lady shouldn't have to look at it."

"I've seen it before."

Erik could not suppress a throaty chuckle. "Ah, but the catch is you do not wish to ever see it again!"

"That's not true," the young woman protested, her shoulders rising with indignation. She inhaled sharply, lips pressed together, hurt.

"Then what is?" Erik questioned, eyes sweeping across the cityscape. "What is true in this world of ours, my dear?"

"I love you."

They heard a horse neigh somewhere below them, while Christine's sentence was met with only stagnant silence. She mistook it for a cold one, until she sensed Erik's grip go slack. Christine chose that moment to brace her toes against the ledge and lean backwards slightly. Behind her shoulders she could feel Erik breathing shallowly.

Until that point Erik had only been encircling her upper arms with his hands to keep her from toppling forward, but now he had no choice but to rearrange his limbs. _So Christine is anxious about the edge at last, _he thought. _What a small ledge. The opera house _must_ be renovated soon. _

His right arm hung awkwardly in the air before coming to rest against her waist. A husband should be able to hold his wife around the waist, should he not? When a gust of night wind came by Erik spread his fingers convulsively and pressed his forearm into Christine's stomach.

The lace on her gown tickled his palm delightfully, however.

They both raised their eyes to the sky. It was a deep black colour, with stars sitting on the horizon. Christine lifted her arm to point at a few of the brightest. The breeze was sharp, but only came to harass them every few minutes.

"Paris is the sun and moon. Paris is the _world,_" Erik said to himself. But she heard as well, and began to hum a tune.

"You do not regret choosing the scorpion, my dear?"

"What a tentative question, Erik!"

Erik's voice turned dark. "Be warned. The scorpion stings, Christine."

"But the pain doesn't last long." Another breeze hammered at the opera house's roof, and she shivered abruptly. "Does it?" The question died on her lips.

Christine Daae had made a grievous error. She had looked down.

"Oh God," she breathed, staring at a carriage passing below. The horse's footfalls boomed in her ears, yet at the same time it was far away, so _far. _"Oh God, Erik, oh my God-" She clutched at Erik's arm. It was clammy and hard as an iron rod. "What are we doing up here, Erik? What silly people we are," Christine said shakily. The carriage turned the corner and went out of sight.

One can not stand so high from the ground, where it is precarious and cold, and not feel an inner shudder. The Palais Garnier was a splendid example of architectural grandeur, after all... Erik, for his part, felt on top of the world.

"Does the height upset you? Erik is so sorry, but what other way can there be? An opera diva must be seen _and_ heard. Wait a moment, my dear, and Erik will have you safe and warm again."

He lifted his head and almost shouted, "Farewell, Paris! Farewell, little bistro! Farewell!" To Christine, a quiet murmur, "See you soon, my love."

A deafening boom, the hiss of a round bullet travelling outrageously fast. They gasped together, and then the air rushed at their faces. Her hair was blown into his eyes, spreading into a halo of gold.

The fall was terrifying indeed, but Erik did not let go.


End file.
